


Stone Is Dust (And Only Air Remains)

by Brenda



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Anal Sex, Kink Meme, M/M, POV Chuck Hansen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Raleigh Becket is like human catnip and Chuck burns for him the way he's never burned for anyone else in his life...</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stone Is Dust (And Only Air Remains)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **[this prompt](http://pacificrimkink.livejournal.com/1613.html?thread=1461325#t1461325)** on the Pacific Rim Kink Meme: Someone ties Chuck up and fucks him in front of a mirror, ordering him to look at his own face when he comes while they tell him all about how beautiful he is when he doesn't have any control.  
>   
> 

Chuck's not really the sort of bloke who believes in fate or destiny or any of that ruck. That sort of thinking's left to men who've never had to _act_ , who have no idea how thin the line really is between getting it right or getting dead, who've never stared the abyss in the eyes and dared it to fucking blink. The universe isn't some pre-ordained puzzle only waiting for the right person to put all the pieces together. It's a random mixture of buttfuck crazy and incomparable beauty, and that's just how it is. Expecting anything different is just asking for heartache, and Chuck hasn't got the time to spare on philosophy. He's got a world to save, and that's not fucking destiny, that's a _choice_ , and one he's made willingly and would again and again, because the alternative doesn't really bear thinking about, and what else is he supposed to do, sit back on the sidelines?

But if he sometimes (not too often, but yeah, sometimes) wants to step outside the Shatterdome and into a different life, be a different sort of person, the kind who could indulge himself the way he sees civilians do and the way he'll never get to, that's not really anyone's business, is it. Everyone's got something lurking under the surface, rippling under their skin, urges they can never fulfill, cravings they can never satisfy, and Chuck's no different than anyone else.

It's not that he's ashamed of his urges. Hell, he knows better than just about anyone that there's only so much one can control where the capricious human brain is concerned. If he'd ever once thought he'd have to be held accountable for every flickering thought in his head...there's just no way. The human race would've died out long before now if people equated thoughts with action and gave them the same credence and weight. Besides, Chuck's been drifting since he was a hormonal 15 year-old, and if there's any one species that isn't in control of _anything_ that goes on in their brains, it's teenagers. And one of the first things his old man'd had taught him, back when he'd been a raw cadet, all stuttering nerves and steely determination, is how to ride the drift like riding a wave on a surfboard, just skimming over the surface until the end, never letting any one thing or thought or memory pull you under or pull you out. 

It's also not that Chuck's ashamed of his body. That's not it. He's worked hard to be in prime physical shape, put in a lot of long hours in the gym and in the Kwoon, and he knows he looks damn good no matter what he's wearing, and especially when he wears nothing at all. Yeah, he works as hard as he does because his job – his _calling_ – demands it of him, and he prides himself on the fact that he's the best damn Jaeger pilot in the fleet, but he's still happy to go that extra mile, do that extra set, whatever it takes for as long as it takes. He wouldn't have gotten to this stage in life and the level he's at without an insane work ethic and without pride. So, yeah, it's not that he's ashamed of what he looks like naked. 

And it's definitely not that he's ashamed of the fact that he's a healthy male who enjoys getting his dick wet in a variety of ways. There are few enough perks to the life he's chosen – the hellacious stress and too much time in cramped spaces, hooked to way too many machines, the constant training of both body and mind, all of the maintenance that helps to keep Striker healthy and ready to rock at a moment's notice – so he'll take being able to wander into any room anywhere in the world and walk out with a willing partner. He's not too picky on if it's male or female, and he's got little interest in any group that would try to label him anyway. If they need to call him something, it needs to start with Ranger and end with Hansen. He's worked far too hard and suffered through far too much for any other bullshit people want to try to shovel in his direction. 

What Chuck _is_ , though, and has always been, is judicious. He's not a prude, never that, but whatever else he thinks of his old man, he respects the link they have, and he respects himself enough not to want to put any thoughts or memories or images that he'd really rather not have to defend, even though he knows his dad won't ask and Chuck sure as shit won't tell. But it does mean that he's not indulging in the extreme sort of sexual shenanigans he's heard about and read about and seen in various vids on the internet. He's always figured he'll get around to 'em eventually – he's got a bucket list as big as his dick of things he's doing just as soon as they've drop-kicked the kaiju back through the Breach and back to their own bloody universe – but circumstances being what they are, even he's not the sort of bastard who would indulge himself the way he wants when he's drifting with his own father. 

So, he's been enthusiastic in bed and he's been attentive and he's been _good_ , but he's never scratched that itch that he sometimes gets between his shoulderblades when he's with someone and he can almost taste what's just behind the curtain and just beyond his reach. He's never engaged in the sort of filthy, dirty-hot sex that he fantasizes about when he's getting himself off and imagining letting himself go in all of the ways he never could in real life, not when being in control is the one ironclad rule he's never allowed himself to break. Time enough, he always reminds himself whenever he can feel the dark ribbons of his own desires tightening around him, because he's one half of the best fucking Jaeger team patrolling the Breach, and failure's never been an option. 

But then the kaiju had started adapting and the tides of war had started to turn and suddenly his fellow Rangers are falling like dominoes and littering their watery battlefield like detritus in the ocean. It's bloody terrifying to even think about, but they start losing more than they're winning and the very real possibility that they _can't_ save the world starts to creep into Chuck's mind. That maybe humanity's days are numbered, and there's nothing he can do to stem the tide.

So maybe his bucket list isn't going to get crossed off after all, but he's still not gonna be the bastard that fucks with the most stable neural handshake the Resistance has got, and if that means certain needs go unsatisfied, well, there's always a price to pay for saving the world.

And if this is Chuck's, he'll accept it.

But then, the Jaeger program is foolishly decommissioned in favor of building a wall that everyone should know fucking well won't do shit to hold the kaiju back and Sydney almost falls as a result (but doesn't, because he and his father are still around and still kicking arse and still drifting as tight as ever, point fucking _proven_ right there) and then the Marshall comes up with a suicidal plan that'll probably get them all killed, but it really just might actually work, simply because it _is_ ballsy as all fuck, and never let it be said the Marshall doesn't have big brass ones where it counts.

And that's when Raleigh Becket swaggers into Chuck's life and turns it completely upside-down. 

Raleigh Becket, with his haunted blue eyes and insanely ripped body and a fuck-you, insubordinate attitude seeping out of every pore of him like he's daring the world to throw the first punch, because he'll damn well be throwing the last one. Chuck takes one look as Raleigh saunters into the room, one long look at the barely leashed power and lean grace that seems imprinted into Raleigh's very bones, and Chuck's familiar enough with that tug low in his belly to know that there won't be much he can do to stay away. He knows himself well enough that he recognizes and respects the clawing need to channel all of Raleigh's anger at the world and bone-deep grief into something a lot more pleasurable. Raleigh Becket is like human catnip and Chuck burns for him the way he's never burned for anyone else in his life, even if he's not even sure how to process the jumble of emotions that Raleigh brings out in him. But he knows himself better than anyone, and he's never once lied about who he is, especially not in the privacy of his own thoughts. He doesn't have to like someone in order to take them to bed, and thankfully, Raleigh also seems to get that, because it doesn't take much prodding – and it doesn't take long – for their fights to turn into a different sort of battle altogether. 

The sex between them is rough and raw, and they go after each other like they're matching bō in the Kwoon. It's all bites and grunts and bruises on skin that they leave on each other like flags of conquest, and Chuck relishes each second they're together even as he curses Raleigh's name whenever they're not. Every encounter leaves him wrung out and spent, but still, as rough as it gets, Chuck knows there's more. Knows he's holding back and so is Raleigh, but maybe it's for the best, and even though part of Chuck still craves what he's not getting, well, he's got this, at least.

Some people, he reminds himself, never even get this much.

***

"I want to try something."

They're lying side by side together on Raleigh's bed, the sheets helplessly rumpled, and Chuck's just started to feel a little restless when Raleigh's voice stops him. He stills, then frowns. This isn't their normal pattern. They meet, they fuck or give each other fast handjobs or even the odd sloppy hummer if one of them's feeling particularly generous, but when they're done, Chuck leaves as soon as he can convince his body to move. He doesn't stay the night and he rarely lingers past the second round unless it's clear they both want a third.

But he's curious, because Raleigh rarely asks for anything, and there's not much waiting for him back in his own room, so he may as well hear Raleigh out.

"I'm listening."

Raleigh nudges at him until Chuck takes the hint and scoots to the edge of the bed, then Raleigh climbs off the bed himself, all graceful lines and perfect economy of motion and endless miles of naked skin. Chuck can feel his mouth starting to water. Maybe he might stay for awhile after all, and add a few more marks to the deep red scratches he can already see forming on Raleigh's back.

Then Raleigh turns and _everything_ in Chuck freezes.

He takes a look at the length of rope draped across Raleigh's palm. His skin flushes. He's suddenly so hard he's dizzy with it. He wants to ask if Raleigh has any idea what he's doing, any idea what he's _asking_ – but he already knows the answer. Knows and craves what would happen if he says yes, and yet – 

"I'm not sure if...I don't..."

"Yeah, I know you don't," Raleigh says softly. His eyes are steady. His hand doesn't move. "But we may not get that tomorrow we both want and I don't want to die with any regrets."

Chuck doesn't either – he really, really doesn't. But, this is... He swallows. "I'm not, uh, I mean –"

"Do you trust me?"

Chuck huffs out a small laugh. What a fucking question. "Mate, I'm not even sure I _like_ you all that much."

"That wasn't what I asked." Raleigh's eyes are burning a hole right through him. The blue of them seems brighter than a noon sky. "Do. You. Trust. Me."

Chuck can't look away. Does he? _Doesn't_ he? Was there ever any doubt after the events of the day before and the way Gipsy'd gone to war and saved not only Chuck and his father, but an entire city, and maybe the world with it? Was there ever any doubt to begin with? Whatever else Raleigh is, he's a Ranger first and last and always, a Jaeger pilot, and maybe they don't like each other, but they have a deeper, truer bond than mere friendship.

In answer, Chuck simply offers his wrists.

Raleigh smiles, like he's pleased and maybe a little surprised, but then he crooks a finger. "Up. I want your hands behind your back."

Chuck wants to ask why, but doesn't, because it doesn't _matter_ why. It doesn't matter, and he's already agreed to this, whatever this is, whatever Raleigh wants. He clambers to his feet, feeling awkward and suddenly unsure of his place, of what he's doing and the motivation behind it, but his cock is still rock hard and his heart's still beating double-time, and that tells him all he needs to know.

Raleigh ties a very simple, but very effective, knot. Chuck tests the bonds, but they hold pretty steady. He could maybe wiggle out of it, but it would involve dislocating his thumbs. This is it, then. He's willingly placed himself in Raleigh's hands, has trapped himself, naked and vulnerable, to Raleigh's whims, given control over to someone that's not himself. And somehow, with this simple act...well, Chuck doesn't want to analyze it too much. He'll leave that to the shrinks. But he knows exactly what the rush of pleasure, the sharp edge of anticipation, coursing through him means.

Then Raleigh steps back and smiles at him, soft and open and unlike anything Chuck's seen, and the unexpectedness of it knocks him for a loop. "C'mon."

It's not like there's far to go – and the room's not that big to begin with – but Chuck still pulls up short when he sees the floor length mirror. "Uh..."

"Stop. There, that's perfect," Raleigh says, and slides his hands down Chuck's shoulders, then his sides to frame his hips. He props his chin on Chuck's shoulder, and smiles at him again, the same one as before, and it has the exact same effect. Chuck can almost feel the ground tilting beneath his feet. 

"Perfect," Raleigh repeats, and Chuck frowns in confusion, because this isn't remotely what he'd thought he'd be getting when he'd let Raleigh tie him up.

"This, um..." He clears his throat. Tries again. "This isn't exactly..."

Raleigh laughs and bites at his earlobe. One of his hands circles Chuck's cock and starts stroking, nice and easy and slow and completely different than how Raleigh normally touches him. " _Trust_ me," Raleigh drawls, and in the simple words, Chuck hears the promise behind it, feels a new weight settle between them, binding them as close together as the rope around Chuck's wrists.

Chuck opens his mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a choked moan. Raleigh's fucking hands, man. Apparently his body likes the new way Raleigh's touching him just fine, because he's pushing into Raleigh's fist, and tilting his head so Raleigh's lips can burn a new path along his nape. He glances at himself, takes in the hard planes and angles of his body, but then it drifts to Raleigh's hand around him, and he can't look away. He's not exactly passing small, but Raleigh's long, clever, rough fingers encircle him easily, and move over him with an assurance that speaks of a helluva lot more familiarity with Chuck's body than Chuck's entirely comfortable with. But that doesn't seem to matter either. 

"You doing okay so far?" Raleigh asks, his other hand drifting lightly along Chuck's ribs and abs.

Chuck nods, the smartass remarked he'd been about to make dying on his tongue when Raleigh slides lower, cups his balls and rolls them between his fingers. "Raleigh..."

"Yeah, I like that, how you say my name when you're enjoying yourself." Raleigh's fingers slide back, tease at his opening, still a little open and relaxed from earlier, then cradle his sac again, manipulating them like a master, and if Chuck sighs Raleigh's name again the way Raleigh seems to like, well, it's not like the bastard hasn't earned it.

Then Raleigh takes his hands and his warmth away. "Gimme a sec, I'm gonna grab the lube. Don't go anywhere."

Chuck manages a small laugh, because, really, where's he gonna go all trussed up like he is and his cock and balls aching for more of Raleigh's touch. He catches Raleigh's return smile in the mirror, still oddly affectionate and open and _different_ in a way he still can't quite pin down. 

True to his word, Raleigh's back in only a handful of moments. This time, his fingers are coated with clear gel, and when he closes his fist around Chuck's cock, gliding over the length perfect and smooth as silk, it's too much. His heartbeat quickens, his eyes start to close, the lids far too heavy to keep up – 

"No." Raleigh's voice is a soft, firm whipcrack along the back of his neck. "Don't close your eyes."

Chuck's breath catches, his Adam's apple bobbing as he blinks, focuses, and stares at Raleigh through the mirror's reflection. Raleigh stares back, implacable, immovable, his gaze not giving an inch, and Chuck finally, belatedly, realizes what it is Raleigh's doing, why he'd wanted Chuck defenseless and unable to walk away.

He blushes all over, feels it wash over him in a wave of longing and sudden, fierce need. His skin feels stretched too tight over his body. His shoulders ache from being pulled back and locked into place for so long, and his hands are going numb.

And he has never, ever been so turned on in his life. 

"I want you to watch yourself," Raleigh instructs. Commands in a silky smooth voice that wraps around Chuck like a gossamer net. "I want you to see what I see when we do this."

His legs are shaky. His voice is shaky. He doesn't think anyone would blame him for either. "Careful there, or I'll start to think what we're doing means something to you."

Raleigh's smile is in no way reassuring. He skims his lips across Chuck's shoulders and those slick fingers slide over him again, gripping and stroking and it's too fucking _much_ , there's no way he's gonna last. Chuck's thighs tremble with the effort of staying upright. He flexes back into Raleigh's touch, wordlessly begging for more. He watches Raleigh, watches himself, the image seared into his brain, digging under his pores like another tattoo, only this one is for him alone. 

"Yeah, that's it, now you're getting it," Raleigh says, and Chuck's body clenches, his knees buckle. He can feel his orgasm building, starting at the base of his spine and racing up, and he is so close, so fucking close...

"Not yet."

Chuck groans, frustrated and aching and what the _hell_ is Raleigh playing at? "Raleigh..." he warns, and he can hear how desperate he sounds, but he's beyond pride right now, he just wants to come.

"Hey, I'm not gonna leave you hangin', alright, I just want..." Raleigh licks a path along the shell of his ear, whispers the next words like a secret. "I just want to be inside you when you come, so just give me a minute to grab something to sit on."

Chuck has no idea how it's even possible, but he gets _harder_. "Fucking Christ, Raleigh..."

"Stay here," Raleigh implores, like he's honestly afraid Chuck will walk away the second his back is turned.

Like that's a choice. Like that's ever been a choice. Chuck's been fucking doomed since the moment he and Raleigh met. It's no use pretending any different.

He can hear the scrape of a chair being dragged across the floor, but he doesn't turn. He's got a pretty good idea what's going to happen next, how this is going to happen, and just the idea of being that open, being that vulnerable... 

Then Raleigh's hands are on his hips again, tugging him backwards. "C'mon," Raleigh says, and it takes Raleigh guiding him and a little maneuvering, but finally Chuck's straddling him, thighs draped on either side of Raleigh's, and Raleigh's chest pressed as close to Chuck's spine as he can get with his hands still in the way. He glances in the mirror again and shivers. He can feel Raleigh's cock pressing into the small of his back and he wants, he wants, he _wants_. There's no longer any room for anything else.

"I want you to watch yourself while I'm fucking you," Raleigh says, his teeth scraping Chuck's nape. "Can you do that for me?"

Chuck jerks out a nod. He's beyond speaking. But it seems to be enough for Raleigh, who shifts, urges Chuck up slightly, and then, yeah, Raleigh's pushing into him, hard and thick and unyielding, and it's still a delicious burn that licks at his nerves, scalds his skin, and the choked whimper dies in the back of his throat.

"Eyes open," Raleigh reminds him, and with his hands firm on Chuck's hips, starts to rock up into him, as slow and easy as the handjob had been. "Tell me what you see."

"You..." Chuck stutters, tries again. It's so hard to think. It's an effort to concentrate, to form words. "You inside me...I can, uh, see you..."

"I bet it's gorgeous, isn't it. You splayed out and open for me, welcoming my cock inside your body..."

"Yes. Yes, it's..." Chuck hisses, rotates his hands, itching with the need to touch, to do _something_. His eyes are half-closed, his cheeks are mottled and red, his chest is ruddy, and there are tendrils of sweat curling from his hairline and dotting his forehead. He's spread wide open, his thighs bunching and flexing with every flex of Raleigh's, Raleigh's cock moving inside him, slow and rhythmic, and he looks...

"You are beautiful like this," Raleigh says, voice muffled as he presses light kisses to Chuck's neck, each one another brand. "I love how much you want this, how much you want me owning you like this, how much you _need_ this..."

Every stroke is hitting Chuck's prostate and every word is hitting somewhere even deeper, and every repressed urge, all of the dark desires he's never even allowed a voice are clamoring inside his head, finally free of their chains. " _Please_ ," he begs, his voice a broken, trembling thing he doesn't even recognize as his. 

"Gonna take such good care of you, gonna...yeah, right there, God, you feel so good, Chuck, you feel _stunning_ , are you looking at yourself for me..."

"Yes...yes..." Chuck chants, and he can feel tears coursing down his cheeks, mingling with the sweat, but he can't look away, he can't. He feels so exposed, so small, he's shattering, he's in pieces, and still, Raleigh keeps talking, keeps telling him how good he looks, how good he feels, and he keeps moving, his cock driving deep and hard, and Chuck stares at his reflection, truly seeing himself for the first time in maybe ever, and he looks...he _looks_...

He falls, trusting Raleigh to catch him, trusting Raleigh to guide him, and the weightlessness wonder of it is a magnificent thing, seeps deep inside him and settles into place. Raleigh soothes him through the aftermath with soft touches and softer words, and he's grateful for the gentleness, even though he's not sure what he's done to deserve it. Then Raleigh undoes the knots, finally freeing his wrists, but all Chuck does is slump back against Raleigh's chest and tilt his head to nudge at Raleigh's chin until Raleigh complies with the wordless request and they're kissing, not as a prelude and not as foreplay, but simply to feel Raleigh's lips on his. And this is also new for them. They've never kissed like this, like they could simply do just this all night, but Chuck thinks maybe he could get used to it.

He whimpers in protest when Raleigh's softened cock slips out of him, even though he knows there's nothing Raleigh can do about it, even if he wanted to. The loss is almost unbearable. 

"You okay?" Raleigh asks, lips sliding to his cheek, tongue sliding over drying tears.

"No," Chuck admits, too broken for anything except honesty. "But I feel..."

He stops. The words are nebulous, just out of reach, and he's too drained to try to chase after them.

"It's fine, it's alright, you don't have to say anything."

Chuck nods, grateful for the reprieve, and gives himself over to the silence, concentrating on matching his breaths to Raleigh's, finding comfort in the small connection. Gradually, the feeling of emptiness subsides, and he thinks maybe he might be able to move off of Raleigh's lap. 

He wobbles when he stands, but Raleigh's there to steady him, and maybe he's reading way too much into this, but maybe he's not. And maybe it doesn't matter either way, because Raleigh doesn't protest when Chuck finally wraps his arms around him and pulls him close for another kiss, this one longer and deeper and _more_. 

"You get it now, right?" Raleigh asks, resting his forehead against Chuck's, his hands back on Chuck's hips, resting like that's where they belong.

"Yeah," Chuck breathes, because he does get it, he gets it down to his bones.

"Good," Raleigh says, pulling back with a relieved look on his face, then he jerks his head towards the bed, and there's that smile again, the open, ground-tilting one that's already Chuck's favorite . "And you'll stay tonight?"

Like he has to ask. "Yes," Chuck says, and kisses him again, says yes to whatever Raleigh's offering, whatever he can get. Because fate is still a bullshit concept and destiny is for civilians too weak to take a stand, but _choice_ is another matter altogether, and Chuck's made his. And it may not be what he'd imagined, but when he opens his eyes and looks at Raleigh looking back at him...

He doesn't need anything else.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Jo for the beta and the hand-holding!!!


End file.
